Irene
by SironaFlett .o.x.o
Summary: Irene appears out of the blue and causes havock for Sherlock. Whilst John is still trying to grasp the concept that Sherlock was in a committed relationship, Irene admits she's in trouble and Sherlock has to confront some dark secrets from his past.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was bored. Nothing we could do. The run of the mill criminals had bored him half to sleep. Usually it's a good thing when detectives-especially homicide detectives- are bored. Not so much with Sherlock. He had taken a sulk and had resorted to throwing eggs at the wall to see how quick it would take for the yolk to run down to the floor. After that, he decided it would be more fun to tear up every piece of furniture looking for something. Then after he couldn't find whatever the hell he was looking for, he had stormed to his room, slamming the door and swearing. I glanced over the newspaper, glaring at the practically torn up room, and checking the clock. Damn. It was only 10am. I folded the paper, sighing and rubbing my eyes.

There was a loud bang and there were several more curses followed by a cry of my name. I ignored it and opened my laptop checking my e-mails. None. My social life had pretty much disintegrated.

"JOHN!" Sherlock bellowed.

"What?" I shouted.

"FETCH ME MY SLIPPERS!"

"Get them yourself!" I shouted back.

"I'LL PUT CYNIDE IN YOUR TEA!"

"That would work if you ever made the tea!"

Silence ensued. I smiled quite happy with my argument. Footsteps sounded as he came charging down the stairs. He flung open the door and pointed at the table where his ugly blue slippers sat.

"They're right there." He cried. "Could you not bring them to me?"

"Sherlock," I said, sighing. "You're here now aren't you? Take your damn slippers and shut up."

Sherlock's mouth twitched. He looked positively... well eccentric. I sighed, closing my laptop and putting it to one side, picking up the, frankly, rotten slippers and passing them over to him. He slipped them on and wiggled his toes before making a noise then turning to leave.

He turned back. "Has Lestrade-"

"No,"

"Not even a little?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock." I said. "There have been no phone calls. No text's. No e-mails. There's not even been a telegraph."

Sherlock frowned not getting the joke. "Why on earth would one send a telegraph? Surely in this modern age you could possibly send a message in a much more convenient method."

I stared at him. "Go to your room and leave me alone,"

"There's no need to take that tone with me." Sherlock mumbled. He fell across the armchair, putting up his feet. His eyes flickered to and from the small wooden box where he kept his gun. I watched him for a second.

"No," I said disapprovingly.

"'No' what?" Sherlock asked.

"I know what you're thinking," I said. "And no, you're not doing it. It'll cost us in the rent and I am not in the mood to bail you out... Again."

"Since when have I ever asked you to bail me out?" Sherlock snapped.

"Since I met you,"

"That's a little bit of a stretch John," Sherlock replied. "Maybe three months after we met."

"No, it was pretty much after we met." I said. "I kept a chart."

Sherlock frowned. "That's very organised of you,"

"Don't act so surprised," I snapped. "You must have wondered what the stationary was for."

"I simply assumed it was for work." Sherlock shrugged.

"I hate it when you assume things," I muttered.

"Don't we all," Sherlock muttered.

"You do know there is a stack of unopened mail ready for you on the table." I said.

Sherlock made a groan, flailing his long arms over the chair and lying low. He sighed picking underneath his fingernails. I licked my lips and leaned forward.

"Sherlock," I said. "Would it make you feel better if I went out and killed someone?"

"And the purpose of that would be...?" Sherlock asked.

"To cheer you up!" I cried.

"Well that is completely redundant." Sherlock replied. "It would be more effective if you had not said that you would kill for my mental pleasure."

"Fine. I won't kill anyone." I said.

"Oh, John!" Sherlock cried.

"What? What now?"

"At least if you killed someone I could pretend to work it out." Sherlock sighed. "Are you done with the entertainment part?"

"Going to watch TV?" I asked.

"Oh don't be ridiculous." Sherlock said.

"Then why are you wanting it?" I asked, passing it over to him.

"I like Randy Philips column page." Sherlock said.

"Randy Philips?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Sounds like an electric appliance." I said.

Sherlock looked up. "John, that is quite disgusting,"

"I know." I sighed. "Humour is just lost on you,"

"Catching on quick aren't we." Came a voice. Sherlock and I twisted around to see a young woman standing at the doorway. Her hair a beautiful shade of red, cropped around her ears. Her face pale and pert smooth and delicate. Her oversized shirt slung over a pair of tweed shorts and black braces that swung around her legs.

Sherlock's eyes widened. He stared at her. I got up and smiled pleasantly. "Hello," I said. "How can we help?"

The woman smiled over at Sherlock. "Hey babes." She said.

"'Babes'?" I asked. "Sorry do you guys know each other?"

Sherlock cleared his throat as the woman continued to smile. "John, meet Irene Adler."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock took a moment to regain himself. He stood staring at her for a second before leaping into action. He grabbed my jacket and pushed it against me and handing me a ten pound note.

"John," he said. "I've had an idea, go out and get some milk."

"What?" I cried. "No!"

"Why should he leave?" Irene asked.

I looked over at her. "Sherlock, who is she?"

"Ah, so he hasn't spoken about his past," Irene said playfully.

Sherlock tossed between us. Unable to find a solution to the situation he was now in. Irene extended her hand towards me. I took it smiling at her.

"John Watson," I said.

"I know, I read your blog. Fascinating." Irene said.

Sherlock sat on the sofa, his fingertips together and staring at his feet. "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

Irene smiled. "Not at all," She said. "I find John to be a cutie."

I felt my cheeks going red. Irene grinned and tugged at them, just like my Auntie Betty. And this made me blush even harder. Irene put down her leather briefcase and put her hands in her pockets. She shuffled her feet slightly. "Are you not going to give me a hug?" She asked quietly.

Sherlock sighed and stood up. He moved towards her and put his arms around her comfortingly. She put her arms around his waist holding him tightly. He touched her hair relishing in it slightly.

"I missed you," She said.

Sherlock pulled apart, smiling and taking her hands. "Me too,"

I was still trying to catch up with the whole thing. "Sorry," I interrupted. "Do you guys know each other?"

Irene kissed Sherlock's hand. "Oh we go way back."

"How far back?" I asked.

Sherlock stared at me. Then his gaze switched to Irene. He sighed. "Irene, do you fancy a cup of tea?"

Irene nodded. "As long as it's well made."

"Ah, you're in luck!" He said looking over at me. "John is well renowned as an expert in making tea."

"I do more than that," I said furiously. I turned to look at Irene. "I do, do more than that." I said earnestly.

Irene showed off her brilliant white teeth. "I'm sure you do," She said playfully.

"Tea, John," Sherlock said dryly. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Oh, no," Irene said. "I love a man in pyjama's," She smiled over at him. Sherlock cleared his throat and left. Irene turned to me looked over the kitchen.

"Right," I said. "Tea. Sugar?"

"Two," Irene said.

"Milk?"

"No thank you," She sat down on Sherlock's chair. "So how long have you two been going out?"

The cup fell from my hands and I blushed in anger. "Why does everyone think we're gay?" I hissed. "We're not. We never will. He just helps me pay the rent."

"Ha, that's not like Sherlock," Irene said. "It's more likely that you help him pay the rent." A pause. "i knew it!" She said almost gleefully.

"Sorry," I said turning to her. "How do you know Sherlock?"

Irene's smile faltered. "He honestly never speaks about his past?"

"Never," I said pouring the water into individual cups.

Irene looked at her fingers. "We have a long and... Long past."

Sherlock returned in minutes. He looked at the broken cup on the floor. "John, is it physically impossible for you to pick up the mess you leave behind?"

"Hypocrite," I said.

"Touché," Sherlock muttered.

"And it's not impossible." I continued. "Just improbable."

"Ah, you want to watch yourself with this one Sherlock," Irene said. "He's a tough nut."

I smiled at her. "Thanks." I said.

"Army, if I'm correct," She said.

"What?" I asked, handing her a mug.

"Not soldier," She continued, inclining her head left. "Medical. A doctor. Afghanistan? It can't have been anymore than a year. You still have the tan marks just above your wrists. You must obviously miss it if you're hanging out with this loony. You're not an only child, because you can put up with his impulsiveness. A younger brother or sister perhaps?"

I let out a loud groan, rolling my eyes. "Not another one!"

Irene grinned. "So you've met Mycroft?" She asked.

"Ah, you and him go back too?" I asked.

Irene laughed a little. "Not quite as far back as Sherlock and I, but yes. We were acquaintances."

"That might still be too strong a word," Sherlock said disdainfully. "Where's my tea?" He asked.

I frowned. "You wanted tea?" I asked innocently.

"I thought it was implied," Sherlock said sulkily.

I stared at my untouched cup of tea in my hand, sighed and passed it over to him. He took a sniff before taking a sip. Irene watched him with affection. She rolled her eyes and took a sip. An awkward silence passed between us before everyone started talking at once.

"So how did you-"

"Why are you-"

"Sherlock, I-"

We stopped and waited. Sherlock was the first to speak up. "Irene," He said calmly. "It's not that I don't like seeing you, but why are you here? I thought you were in Karczew."

"I was," She said putting her cup down on the coffee table. "But I came back. Apparently the song was right. It is a small world after all."

"You ran out of places to hide?" Sherlock asked.

"Hide?" I frowned.

"Irene is a convicted criminal," Sherlock said plainly.

"Way to drop a bombshell, Sherlock," Irene said.

"What?" He asked. "You are."

"Yes, I know I am," Irene said. "I just don't want him to know."

"Oh he's quite trustworthy," Sherlock said.

A moment of pride welled up inside me. Irene raised an eyebrow. "Okay," She said. "I trust you,"

Sherlock took her hand and smiled. "Now, why are you here?" He asked.

Irene bit her lip and looked away.

"Irene," Sherlock said.

She turned back to look at him. "Can we talk in private?" she asked.

"No," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, you may trust this man, but I've barely known him five minutes." Irene said. "I can trust your judgement but only so much,"

Sherlock turned to look at me. "Sorry John," He said taking Irene's hand and leading her up to his room, he hovered behind her for a second staring at me. "I'll explain later."

I nodded. "Of course."

He made to move up to his room. I grabbed his elbow. "Sherlock," I said. "Who is she?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "No one," he said finally. "Just a friend." With that he turned and jogged upstairs to his room, slamming the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs Hudson pushed the magazines to one side before checking if the cup was full. I shifted my feet for her as she shuffled past. Sherlock came downstairs, looking more stoic than usual. He tucked his hands into his pockets staring out the window.

"Who is she?" I asked over my paper.

Sherlock looked over at me. "Mm?" He asked.

"This Irene," I said. "I've never seen you look at someone like that before."

"Drop it John" Sherlock said dangerously, his jaw clenched.

I watched him for a moment. "Sherlock," I said. "Is she going to pose a threat?"

"I doubt it," Sherlock muttered.

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Sleeping." Sherlock replied. "She's been through a lot."

"She told you?"

"She doesn't need to tell me John," Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, so now you're psychic?" I asked.

"Just drop it!" He said angrily falling onto the chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table. He opened the newspaper and hid behind it. I stood up and took it from him, shifting his feet so I could sit on the coffee table.

"Sherlock," I said. "Who is she?"

Sherlock sighed looking up at me. "You tell me." He said.

"What?" I asked.

"What?" he asked. "Well, you saw her. Deduce Watson! Deduce!"

I frowned, stunned slightly. "She's... American..."

"Correct," Sherlock drawled, pulling the newspaper forward. He flung it up in front of his face and remained silent.

I frowned. "Sherlock," I pulled the paper away. He sighed, staring up at me.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Tell me who she is!" I cried. "What's she doing here?"

"She's an old friend." Sherlock said. "And she needs my help."

"Are you going to give her your help?" I asked.

"No," Sherlock said.

"Why?"

"If you went through what we did, you would refuse her help too." Sherlock said bitterly.

I became quite confused at this. "Where is she?" I asked.

"In my bed." Sherlock said. He caught my look. "Don't look at me like that. She just came back from Peru. She's jet lagged."

"What does she want from you?" I asked.

"Long story," Sherlock muttered.

"Please, do tell. I'm all ears." I said.

"John," Sherlock said calmly. "This is none of your business. Please. I'm asking you as a friend. Just leave the subject alone."

I paused, sighing. "Were you two involved?"

Sherlock folded his newspaper. "Would that make you happy? Would that make you happy to know that I have screwed up in love and lost everything before I even met you? Just drop it."

My shoulders dropped. Sherlock's eyes were dark and dangerous. I nodded. "Right, well when you're ready to share."

"Piss off!" Sherlock said looking away.

I stopped and stared at him. I shook my head sadly and wandered off. Irene was sitting on the stairs leading up to Sherlock's room. She had her head in her hands.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," She muttered miserably.

I sat down beside her. "I... I don't know you that well. For all I know this could be a usual demeanour for you. But you don't look all too.. Happy..."

"I'm not," She said. "He really never talks about his past?"

I shook my head. "Sorry," I said. "I mean, he's said some things that have made me uncomfortable. And I've met Marie and Phil-"

"Is that tart still around?" Irene asked.

I shook my head sadly. "She died a few months ago." I said.

"Oh," Irene paused. "How?"

"Killer police officers," I said.

"I beg your pardon?" Irene asked disbelievingly.

"Long story," I replied.

"Why didn't you write it up on your blog?" She asked.

"Because," I sighed. "Sherlock asked me not to."

"You always do what Sherlock asks you to?" She asked.

"No,"

"I think you do. I think you like being ordered about. Y'know like from the army." Irene said.

I shook my head. "That's... That's not true." I said.

"Sure," Irene said.

"What part of America are you from?" I asked.

"Boston," She replied. "Dad relocated after mom died. Uprooted the entire family to London."

"Entire family?" I asked.

"Brothers, grandma, great aunt, the fish..." Irene said. "Only... We didn't have any fish."

"Brothers?" I asked.

"Two."

"Oh." I looked at my feet. "How old were you?"

"14 years old." Irene said.

"And you still kept your accent?" I asked.

"Couldn't exactly leave it." Irene said. "I met Sherlock when I was sixteen."

"Wow... That's a long time to know each other. Isn't he like... 36 years old?"

"34." Irene corrected.

"Wow," I muttered. "That's..."

"18 years we've known each other," Irene said. "Yeah. It's scary when you think about it."

We sat in unsteady silence. Irene sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"He's not going to help you," I said quietly.

"I guessed." Irene said miserably. She looked over. "Well, you're almost as smart as him. Maybe you could help me."

I began to chuckle. I stood up. "No," I said.

"But... John!" Irene grabbed my hand. "You could help me. I'll give you money. I know you're always looking for money to pay the rent."

"Yes, I know that," I said. "But Irene, I barely know you and it would be stupid to even think about it."

"Irene," I said calmly. "I can't help you. I'm sorry." I left and went back into the front room, forgetting that Sherlock was in a bad mood. I sighed.

I picked up my jacket. "I'm going out." I said.

"Get milk." Sherlock said sulkily.

"No." I said.

"Why not?"

"Because the last time I got milk you decided to make a decapitated head float in it for three days straight."

"It was an experiment."

"For which you never gave a hypothesis." I said.

"I never had time to think of one." Sherlock said.

"No because you just did it to make my life a living hell." I said, picking up my keys. "talk to Irene and stop being a pain in the arse. If I get back and you two aren't playing nice, I will ground you for a week."

"I'm not six!"

"Stop acting like you are then." I said, slamming the door behind me.


End file.
